Sighs
by KnittedSweater
Summary: "Voldemort's ideal perfection was not in the form of this lanky, trembling, blonde, shade of a man who never gave him what he wanted. No, this wasn't a man, this form before him was merely a boy. A boy scared to kill those who brought the dirtiest of blood to the magical world." Cursing. Deathly Hallows spoilers.


**This one's weird. But I say that in every fic I write. And I'm guessing you guys are already used to my weird way of musing over things(if that's even possible).**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

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**Sighs **

A sigh or annoyance echoed through the room. Pure, irritating, and terrifying annoyance. It sent shivers down his spine, and that sigh made him regret ever wailing his way out of his mother's womb. That sigh showered him with thoughts of every little mistake he's made - ever. It made the voice in his head chant _shit, shit, shit,_ with whispers of_ oh shit, what did I do now_ and_ you're in deep shit_ echo in the background. And his made his eyes go wide with fear and pricks of terror wash over his body. It made his palms sweaty and his breath shaky with horror.

All of this from a _stupid,_ emotional _exhale_ of _breath._ But it was all in good reason.

And there were five.

The fifth reason was because he was a perfectionist. He did everything with a studious obsession that rivaled even the best of students(like that Granger girl). He made sure everything was to his satisfaction, but sometimes, their levels of perfection weren't entirely balanced.

The fourth reason was because he was_ known_ to please. He was known for being prepared, and hearing that sigh blasted a hole through years of praise.

The third reason was because sometimes, he screwed up on purpose. He screwed up because he didn't want to kill people. He didn't want to hear their screams or watch their eyes melt in terror dealt from his own hand. He didn't want to have such a thing as murder on his shoulders, dragging him down to the depths of hell where he_ knew_ he belonged.

The second reason was because he know that if they gave him that irritated sigh, he'd hear it again. He's hear it again, but accompanied with harsher words that before. Accompanied with words that brought tears to his eyes when he replayed their "family gatherings" in his head, truly telling of how _worthless_ he was(to them, at least).

The first and foremost and most terrifying reason(that was so blatantly obvious) was because the one who gave such a sigh was no other than motherfucking_ Voldemort._ With a sneer that rivaled his and expectations he could never hope to meet and an unbelievable power he cowered under. He hated hearing that sigh because he didn't want to be such a damn_ disappointment._ He didn't want to be tortured again because of the tiniest slip up, because when Voldemort tortured, he fucking_ tortured. _He didn't give a second _shit_ about explanations, he was merciless, and with a flick of his wand, you were writhing on the ground, pain spilling out of every nerve in your body.

So when a whoosh of air left Voldemort's lips, tainted with regret, he felt like the world was tumbling_ down, down,_ and _down._ And soon, very soon(after a flick of the Dark Lord's wand), the enormous weight would crash onto his shoulders without warning.

Draco's breathing quickened, a bead of sweat running like the unshed tears of the boy he still was down his face. He was still kneeling, bowing his head in fear interpreted as respect. Voldemort's eyes narrowed. _ He expected better!_ Lucius promised perfection, but perfection apparently was not delivered to his door. Voldemort's ideal perfection was _not_ in the form of this lanky, trembling, blonde, shade of a man who almost never gave him what he wanted. No, this wasn't a man, this form before his was merely a boy. A boy scared to kill those who brought the _dirtiest_ of blood to the magical world. A boy whose loyalties were shrouded in mystery, and for that, he would be _punished._ Punished until he saw understanding in those stormy Malfoy eyes.

Another sigh echoed through the room, mocking Draco's ears with lost hope. His fingers twitched in fear, and his eyes closed as he waited for the inevitable to come.

_Crucio._


End file.
